Familiar Comfort
by ilovecastiel18
Summary: ACTUAL TITLE WITHIN THE STORY. Crowley hates when Aziraphale is upset. He hates it so much, that he is willing to go against his demonic nature to help the angel feel better. Or, five times that Crowley comforts Aziraphale, and one time Aziraphale comforts Crowley. Aziraphale/Crowley at the end. Hurt/Comfort, angst, fluff, so much fluff, a bit of romance. Rated T.
1. Holy Water

**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

**Summary: **Crowley hates when Aziraphale is upset. He hates it so much, that he is willing to go against his demonic nature to help the angel feel better. Or, five times that Crowley comforts Aziraphale, and one time Aziraphale comforts Crowley. Aziraphale/Crowley at the end. Hurt/Comfort, angst, fluff, so much fluff, a bit of romance. Rated T.

**A/N: **Since I have been involved in fanfiction for the better part of four years, it is rare for me to find something new, or a writing style that I haven't seen before. But I just discovered these 5+1 fics and I absolutely adore them. This is my first take on one! Review if you like it!

….

Five Times that Crowley Comforts Aziraphale, and One Time that Aziraphale Comforts Crowley

Chapter 1: Holy Water

….

_London, 1960s:_

Crowley was, not that he would admit it, a bit put off by Aziraphale's recent actions. During the previous time that they met, the angel had blatantly refused to give him any holy water, no matter how much the demon griped and groaned.

Crowley remembered the way that Aziraphale had looked at him, saying "It would destroy you" with just the hint of emotional turmoil at the end. As if it would hurt him if the demon was gone from the Earth.

He also remembered, after he had explained that he wanted it for insurance and not suicide, how Aziraphale had whimpered, "I'm not an idiot, Crowley."

He remembered how he had bitten back at the angel, insulting him. And how his best friend had yelled back.

And he hadn't seen Aziraphale since.

Until tonight, when the angel had miracle himself into the Bentley and given Crowley a thermos of holy water, telling him to make sure the lid was tight.

And then he had climbed out of the car, muttering "You go too fast for me, Crowley," a sad look on his face.

Did the angel really think that he wanted to kill himself?

Crowley had been lounging on the hardly used couch in his den, mulling over the events of the last few decades.

He hadn't meant to worry the angel, if that was what he had done. He just wanted to have some insurance in case he ever did anything against Hell worth being destroyed over. He had no intention of letting the likes of Hastur or Ligur kill him if he could help it.

Deciding that his friend's peace of mind was worth more than his reputation (as long as no one saw or heard anything), Crowley got up from his position on the couch and made his way out of his flat. He slid in the driver's seat of his beloved Bentley, careening away toward Aziraphale's beloved bookshop.

….

Aziraphale, being an angel, had no qualms about being worried about his friend, despite said friend being a demon.

Sure, angels and demons were supposed to be on opposite sides. Sure, he had explained, none too gently, to Crowley on multiple occasions that they were not, in fact, friends.

But he was willing to admit to himself that he felt some sort of… endearment toward the demon, and he sincerely didn't want him to be destroyed by his own hand.

He vividly remembered the first time that Crowley had asked him for holy water. They had been standing by the river in St. James's Park, and the demon had handed a slip of paper. When Aziraphale opened the folded paper and read the words "holy water" in Crowley's thin, spidery writing, he felt his heart take a nosedive, landing somewhere around his navel.

He had immediately looked up at his friend (a term he only used when thinking to himself), knowing that there was a look of pain and worry etched onto his face. He remembered explaining to Crowley that it was absolutely out of the question.

"It would destroy you." He had muttered, embarrassed by the unconcealed emotion in his voice.

Even after Crowley had explained that he didn't want it for suicide, he hadn't believed the demon.

"I'm not an idiot, Crowley." He had whimpered.

And then the demon was yelling at him, insulting him. And Aziraphale found himself yelling right back.

And he hadn't seen or heard from the demon since, until today. When he had given Crowley a tartan thermos of holy water, praying that the demon would take the pattern into consideration, and think about him, when he opened the container.

He vaguely remembered muttering "You go to fast for me, Crowley." As he exited the car, not just referring to the demon's love of the gas pedal.

And then he had taken his time walking back to his bookshop, going over every second he had spent with the demon, analyzing every interaction for missed signs of depression.

For suicidal thoughts and tendencies.

He was so worried about his friend, worried that he would never see him again, that he forgot to lock up before he headed upstairs to his little flat, intent on lying down and contemplating everything that the demon had ever done.

He was shocked, sometime later, when he heard a knock at the door. It was around four in the morning. Clearly, he thought to himself, he would be closed.

He was even more shocked when he heard the creak of the door being pushed open, followed by the tinkle of the bell over it.

And he was astonished when he heard Crowley's voice calling his name.

….

Crowley was hoping that Aziraphale would answer the door. He was practically, though he would never admit it, praying to the Almighty that the angel was actually there, and not off in a late-night restaurant or a book auction.

When he didn't hear the angel's soft footsteps coming toward the door, Crowley decided to test it to see if it was open.

It was.

Crowley cautiously walked into the bookshop, careful not to startle Aziraphale if he was there. He didn't want to give the angel anymore worry than he already had.

He quietly called out the angel's name, and then called it out louder and louder until the Aziraphale came down the stairs to greet him.

"Crowley." He said flatly.

"Aziraphale." The demon replied.

"What do you want?" Aziraphale asked, making his way around Crowley and toward his desk. "Come to say goodbye before you do it?" he sat down and started to rifle through a book.

Crowley could tell that he wasn't paying attention to a single word on the page, but he didn't tell Aziraphale that.

"Listen, angel…" he started. "Aziraphale," he amended, realizing that this wasn't the time for his little pet name. "I'm sorry for making you worry about me." Crowley squirmed, unused to apologizing for anything.

But he didn't want his angel to worry.

"I was telling the truth when I said I didn't want it to… er… destroy myself. I only wanted it for protection." Crowley moved toward where Aziraphale was sitting, still staring blankly at a page in his book.

"Work with me here, angel. I'm not very good at this." Crowley practically pleaded.

Aziraphale snapped his book shut and sat it on his desk carefully, standing to look at the demon.

"Crowley, I don't want you to be destroyed." The angel muttered, hints of embarrassment in his voice. He refused to look into Crowley's eyes. Or, rather, his sunglasses.

"I don't want to be destroyed either, Aziraphale. I really didn't want the holy water to commit suicide. I wanted it in case Hastur or Ligur decide that Hell could do without me. Head office likes me, but that won't necessarily stop lower level demons from wanting me dead. It's just insurance." He paused, still seeing some distrust in the angel's eyes.

Crowley reached up and took off his sunglasses, something he rarely did, and put them in his jacket pocket. He felt like this was the proper moment for Aziraphale to actually be able to see his eyes. To see the sincerity in them, that Crowley was, for once, allowing to show through his harden demeanor.

"How long have we known each other, Aziraphale?" he didn't pause for an answer. "I wouldn't lie to you over something like this, despite the fact that I'm a demon." He cautiously placed his hands on the angel's shoulders, preparing to be rejected, or to have his hands shrugged off.

Aziraphale made no move to break the contact, so Crowley continued.

"I swear, angel, that I'm not suicidal. I promise you, I have no intention of leaving you… er… leaving the Earth anytime soon."

….

Aziraphale, able to look into Crowley's yellow snake eyes, could see how genuine the demon was being.

He felt relief wash over him, that he wasn't about to lose his best friend. He felt like hugging Crowley, but figure that would neither be appropriate nor welcomed by the demon. Or their head offices.

So, he reached up and patted one of the hands on his shoulders, a kind smile on his face.

"Thank you, dear." He let his hand linger on Crowley's for just a moment longer, then pulled back from the demon and went back over to his desk.

He heard Crowley breathe a sigh of relief. Not because he had lied – as Aziraphale would have thought of any other demon – but because he had comforted his friend.

Aziraphale felt a strange, uncommon feeling wash over him just before Crowley left the bookshop. He hadn't had enough time to place it before it disappeared.

He heard the Bentley screech away.


	2. Rubbish

**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

….

Five Times that Crowley Comforts Aziraphale, and One Time that Aziraphale Comforts Crowley

Chapter 2: Rubbish

….

_The day of Warlock's birthday party (and the day that the Hellhound was released to Adam):_

Watching Aziraphale do magic (the fake, sleight of hand kind, not the real, angelic miracles kind) made Crowley cringe in ways that he usually never experienced.

He rarely felt uncomfortable in Aziraphale's company, but that always changed whenever the angel tried to make a coin disappear by hiding it in his hand.

He actively insulted the angel about his abhorrent magic tricks, though the abuses usually lacked any heat.

Frankly, it was getting to the point that Crowley actually found it hard to insult the angel. He increasingly felt displeased every time he would call Aziraphale a name or tell him he was rubbish. Usually, the angel would brush off the abuse, never taking Crowley seriously.

However, in the rare instances that Aziraphale would give Crowley a slight frown, or put his magic equipment away with an air of defeat, the demon felt horrible.

He hadn't taken much time to ponder this development in his feelings toward the angel, keen to focus on stopping the Apocalypse.

So, he tried not to pay attention when Warlock and his blasted friends started bullying Aziraphale.

He attempted to stop listening when they called the angel rubbish, and started throwing food at him. He stared at his watch to make it seem like he wasn't watching.

But, when he looked up and saw Aziraphale packing up his things, smeared with cake and looking just slightly dejected… Crowley felt like throttling every child at the blasted party.

And he wasn't usually one for killing kids.

He wanted to speak to the angel, give him some sort of security that he wasn't so bad. That he maybe wasn't the best magician, but he was amazing at loads of other things.

But, he had to deal with a missing Hellhound.

Perhaps a missing Antichrist.

So he let everything go, allowing his anger at Warlock to drift down and settle somewhere where he could ignore it.

He pointedly turned away as Aziraphale miracle his things into the boot of the Bentley, bringing the dove from his sleeve back to life and then sliding into the car next to Crowley.

He refused to see the look on the angel's face.

Not when he could already feel the disappointment and gloom radiating from his best friend.

….

Aziraphale loved magic in every sense of the word.

He loved being an angel, able to perform miracles and help out those who needed it (secretly, he also loved being able to miracle himself open tables at particular restaurants, and making sure that customers didn't buy his beloved books).

However, he also loved sleight of hand magic. The kind that you did with special cards and coins and distracting the audience. With hollowed out tables and birds and bunnies.

He loved this kind of magic despite Crowley's protests. Despite how the demon would whine that "you can do _real _magic, angel!" and how he would attempt, without much effort, to degrade him and his frivolous activities.

Aziraphale rarely let Crowley get to him. He knew that the abuses were just part of his demonic nature. If the demon really intended to hurt his feelings, he could do far worse things that insulting his affinity for fake magic tricks.

Once in a while, Crowley would make a scathing remark that would actually hurt Aziraphale, but he always noticed how the demon looked pained whenever Aziraphale frowned at something he said.

He knew that the demon had no intention of hurting him.

Warlock and his friends, however, were rather horrible.

Aziraphale would admit that he was a bit out of practice doing sleight of hand magic rather than miracles, but the kids were being rather relentless.

Any trick he attempted to do wither went wrong or was outed by the birthday boy.

Anytime Warlock shouted something like "It was in the table," Aziraphale felt a small tendril of disappointment and dejection curl in the pit of his stomach.

Whenever he looked toward Crowley for a bit of support, he noticed the demon eyeing his watch or some of the food on the table.

Aziraphale wasn't an idiot. He could tell that the demon was avoiding his gaze. He just couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why.

He soon forgot his inquiries when the first piece of cake hit him in the face.

Feeling rather put out, he gathered up his things and miracle them into the Bentley, wiping at the frosting on his face as he walked up to the car.

He brought the bird up his sleeve back to life and let it fly away before climbing into the passenger seat of the car, noticing that Crowley was pointedly looking away from him.

He sighed, sitting back in his seat and tightening his seatbelt around him, knowing Crowley's driving habits.

He would never get used to the feelings that came with being rejected.

….

Crowley was discreetly examining Aziraphale through the rearview mirror, hardly paying attention to the road. He was noticing the sad set to the angel's mouth, the downturned eyes.

Aziraphale was actually, truthfully, hurt by Warlock's and his friends' comments.

The pair of them were currently rocketing toward Tadfield, intending to speak to the nuns from the hospital, or at least find some records from the night of the exchange.

When they pulled up to the former hospital, Crowley had yet to see a change in Aziraphale's demeanor.

And he didn't like it one bit.

Before Aziraphale even had the chance to open the car door, Crowley laid a tentative hand on his arm.

"Aziraphale…" he started.

The angel sighed and turned to face the demon, weariness in his eyes.

"I just… er… I mean… I just wanted to say that you're not rubbish. I mean…" he paused, taking in Aziraphale's confused look. "You're not the best at human magic tricks, I'll give you that. But you're certainly not the worst, either. And anyway…" he paused again, noticing the angel's eyes widening and a few frown lines smoothing out.

"You're… great… at loads of other things. Books, for a start. And miracles and choosing restaurants and just generally being kind and helping people and…" Crowley stopped talking now, a blush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. "Anyway, don't listen to those kids. Or me, for that matter. Just… don't let it get to you, Aziraphale." Crowley's blushed deepened and he looked away from the angel, grateful that his sunglasses made it so the angel couldn't look into his eyes.

He moved to take his hand off Aziraphale's arm, but the angel slapped his hand overtop to stop the effort. He idly stroked the back of Crowley's hand with his thumb for a moment, contemplating.

He wasn't noticing the odd feeling blossoming in his chest that he had felt before, in his bookshop, when Crowley had explained to him about the holy water. He was much too focused on his own feelings toward the demon, trying to understand if it was just friendship or something more. Or if he was losing his mind.

"Crowley, dear…" Aziraphale started to say. The demon was still avoiding his eyes, so he reached up and touched his chin, turning his face so they were eye to eye, with the exception of the sunglasses hindering his view of them. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

Aziraphale wanted to explain how much the words had meant to him. He wanted to tell Crowley how much of an exceptional friend he was, and how he was lucky to know him. He wanted to hug the living daylights out of the demon.

But he didn't.

He simply ran his thumb over Crowley's bony hand one more time before letting go and getting out of the Bentley, happier than he had been all day.


	3. Soft

**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

….

Five Times that Crowley Comforts Aziraphale, and One Time that Aziraphale Comforts Crowley

Chapter 3: Soft

….

_Saturday, a few hours before the end of the world:_

Crowley had been discreetly following Aziraphale with his thoughts. The angel and he had a sort of connection, not that either of them would acknowledge it, and Crowley was using it to keep up with his friend.

He told himself he was just being vigilant, making sure that Aziraphale wasn't thwarting any Hellish plans. But really, he was making sure that the angel was safe, and at least mildly content. He could feel Aziraphale's anxiety coursing through him, but he was watching for anger or shock or sadness. Aziraphale was always anxious.

So, it didn't take him long to feel the extra pulse of anxiety from his friend, and his heart started to beat faster, even though he was simply sitting at his desk.

Was Aziraphale running? 

Crowley quickly left his flat and hopped into the Bentley, using his senses to steer him toward wherever Aziraphale was. He stopped short by St. James's park, running over a curb and almost hitting a pedestrian. He ignored the look the woman gave him, locking the car and hurrying to vantage point where he could Aziraphale and, as it turned out, Gabriel.

Crowley used his enhanced demonic senses to listen to the conversation. Gabriel was explaining to Aziraphale that the war between Heaven and Hell had to happen. They didn't want to stop it, they wanted to go through with it.

Crowley scoffed. He had been telling the angel for years that Heaven wasn't to be trusted. The angels, with the exception of Aziraphale, hadn't lived on Earth, hadn't realized its brilliance.

He continued to listen, realizing that Gabriel was more of a dick than he originally thought.

Then he heard Gabriel point at Aziraphale's stomach and say "Lose the gut."

He felt a white-hot surge of anger at the purple-eyed demon. How _dare _he insult Aziraphale like that. Crowley would never say this out loud, to anyone, but he thought the angel was absolutely perfect. If he ever heard another person say something like that about his angel…

And then he heard Aziraphale mutter, "I'm soft."

Crowley bared his teeth and started making his way down the hill he was perched on, intending to maim, possibly kill Gabriel and comfort Aziraphale.

He stopped short when Gabriel appeared in front of his angel again. Crowley didn't have enough time to strain his ears to hear before Gabriel was off to Heaven.

Crowley pushed his anger down like he had at Warlock's birthday party, walking up behind a dejected looking Aziraphale.

"You're not soft, angel." He muttered, looking off in the distance rather than at his friend.

….

Aziraphale hated seeing Gabriel. His boss was rather mean, if he was forced to admit it. He didn't mind straightforwardness, he was used to Crowley's nonsense by now, but Gabriel meant everything he said.

Crowley may insult him here and there, but Aziraphale knew that the demon rarely meant it. But Gabriel, he was nonchalant and rude and always said what was on his mind, no matter who he hurt.

However, Aziraphale wasn't one to shy away from his angelic duties.

So, when he saw Gabriel jogging past him, he ran to keep up, attempting to talk to his boss about his activities in relation to stopping the Apocalypse.

Finally, when he had run his fill, he asked his boss to stop, leaning over to catch his breath.

And he heard Gabriel explain to him that Heaven wanted the war.

Then, he listened to Gabriel call him fat.

Not that the archangel used those words precisely. But "lose the gut" hurt nevertheless.

When Gabriel jogged away again, Aziraphale found himself staring miserably at the ground, realizing that he had gone soft.

Then, Gabriel was back in front of him, asking him about the flaming sword that he hadn't seen since Eden.

And then the archangel finally went back to Heaven, leaving a saddened Aziraphale behind, alone, on the Earth.

Then, he heard a rustling of footsteps behind him. He could feel who it was before Crowley even stepped up beside him.

"You're not soft, angel."

….

"Crowley, were you listening to a private conversation?" Aziraphale reprimanded halfheartedly.

"Obviously, Aziraphale." Crowley paused, turning toward the angel and taking off his sunglasses. "Don't listen to him. He's an arsehole."

"But Crowley…" Aziraphale started to argue.

"There's more to being an angel than being able to fight. You might not have six-pack abs, Aziraphale, but you're still an amazing… er… functioning angel." Crowley backtracked. He didn't mean to call Aziraphale amazing.

And, of course, the angel caught the compliment.

"I remember being an angel actually. Well most of it." Crowley turned away to look up at the sky, sunglasses still in his hand. "I remember creating stars, nebulas, whole galaxies. I remember having bright white wings and thinking that everything would work out, for the greater good." Crowley paused and looked down at the ground, a sad look in his eye.

"I didn't mean to Fall, angel." Crowley muttered. Aziraphale let out a soft little gasp and took the demon's hand into his own. Instead of pulling away, Crowley laced their fingers together. "I just asked questions. I just wanted to know why the Great Plan was what it was. I didn't rebel, I didn't fight, I didn't say the Plan was wrong. I just wanted to know why." He sniffed and looked back at Aziraphale.

"Anyway, the point is that you shouldn't listen to Gabriel. He's the kind of angel that thinks the only point in being an angel is to fight in the war. But you and I know that it's so much more." He paused again.

"He doesn't understand how… interesting humanity is. He doesn't know the pleasures of cars or music or, in your case, books and sushi restaurants. I'm sure he's never created a star or watched a galaxy swirl. He just shuffles through reports all day and goes for the occasional run, to keep himself in shape for Armageddon." He realized that he was rambling, and decided it was high time that he shut up.

"Anyway, the point is that you shouldn't listen to him, Aziraphale. You're not soft."

….

Aziraphale felt a small tear welling in his eye as Crowley finished his little speech. He could feel that odd feeling again, the one that spread through his chest like fire, but he didn't give it much of a thought. He squeezed the demon's hand, trying to find something, anything to say to the demon.

"That was… beautiful, Crowley. I know you don't usually go for those kinds of words, but… well…" he paused, once again unsure what to say. "Thank you, anyway. I'm glad you… trust me enough to tell me how you… anyway, thank you. You're a good friend."

Crowley gave the angel a halfhearted scoff. If anyone, _especially _an angel or a demon, saw the two of them holding hand, or heard Aziraphale saying he was a good friend, his reputation, and his being in general, would be destroyed. Probably by holy water.

Still, Crowley stood in the park with his best friend, refusing to pull his hand away from Aziraphale no matter who may be watching.


	4. Burned Bookshop

**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

….

Five Times that Crowley Comforts Aziraphale, and One Time that Aziraphale Comforts Crowley

Chapter 4: Burned Bookshop

….

_Saturday, after the events at the airbase:_

Crowley and Aziraphale were sitting next to each other on the bus, thinking to themselves in silence.

Crowley was thinking about the events of the night. How they had watched a few eleven-year-old kids fight the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, seen Satan himself rise from under the airbase to reprimand his son, and how his precious Bentley had been burned to a crisp.

He was also thinking about the angel sitting next to him, looking dejectedly down at the dirty floor of the bus. He wanted to ask the angel what was wrong, but didn't know if it would be appropriate.

They were friends, granted, but he didn't want to intrude on whatever thoughts that Aziraphale was going through.

He sat in silence, thinking about how much Aziraphale meant to him.

Demons weren't supposed to feel love; he was sure of that. He was also absolutely sure that he loved Aziraphale. With everything that he was, and everything that he would be.

Crowley was starting to realize that he felt more than friendship toward the angel. He used to pretend to insult and degrade him, at least keeping up appearances. But over the last few years, the last few days, especially, he was beginning to realize that he wanted more from the angel.

He relished every time that he touched the angel. Whether their shoulders or hands brushed together briefly, or Aziraphale placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Crowley distinctly remembered Aziraphale running his thumb over the back of his hand in the Bentley, and when the angel had grabbed his hand earlier that day in the park, when Crowley was reminiscing about being an angel.

Crowley desperately wanted to hold Aziraphale. He wanted to hold his hand, hug him, curl up next to him. He wanted to lay his head in the angel's lap and let him play with his bright red hair.

He wasn't interested in sex, that was one thing he knew. He may have been a demon, but he honestly had no interest in those sorts of things. He just wanted to be able to touch and hold and kiss his angel whenever he wanted. He wanted Aziraphale.

Crowley sat in silence, contemplating whether to ask the angel what was wrong.

….

Aziraphale was sitting on the bus next to his best friend, staring at the floor and thinking about his burned bookshop.

He knew he should have been thinking about the events of the day, how he, Crowley, four eleven-year-olds (including the Antichrist), an old witchfinder, and a sex worker/fraudulent psychic had saved the world from the Apocalypse and the literal Devil.

He knew he should be worrying about the state of mind of the humans, wondering how to convince them that it wasn't actually the Apocalypse.

But he was just thinking about his beloved bookshop and all of his wonderful, ruined books.

And, he was thinking about Crowley. About how had been denying his feelings for the demon for years. He had grudgingly accepted that the redhead was his friend a few centuries back, and he never attempted to hide his delight whenever Crowley popped up somewhere that he was.

He had been ignoring the newer feelings he'd started to expeience. Thoughts that he just wanted to hug Crowley and hold his hand and cuddle with him on the sofa. He wanted to read a book to the demon, have him curl up against his side and listen with his eyes closed.

Aziraphale wanted all the cute, cuddly moments that every couple got to experience. He had been denying his love for the demon for far too long.

Unsure how to broach the subject, however, Aziraphale turned his thoughts back to his books, once again not noticing the feeling spreading through his chest. He gave it enough thought to notice that it was not a feeling of his, it was something that he was picking up from someone else on the bus, but he thought about it no further after that.

He turned to stare out the window, letting the sadness for his books spread across his face.

Then he felt something else, as Crowley's hand curled around his own.

….

When Aziraphale had looked up and out the window, Crowley had started studying him through the reflection in the glass. He noticed the sadness and defeat etched over the angel's pale skin, and decided that enough was enough.

He reached over and grasped Aziraphale's hand, fairly sure that he wouldn't be rejected, since they had held hands just a few, eventful, hours earlier.

Aziraphale turned to look at him, and Crowley gave his hand a squeeze. He wasn't sure if he should speak or just give the angel the comfort of some physical contact with a friend.

Aziraphale made the choice for him.

"What is it, my dear?" he asked gloomily.

"Are you alright, Aziraphale?" Crowley asked quietly.

"I'm…" Aziraphale paused. "I'm not sure, Crowley." He answered honestly.

"What's wrong?" the demon questioned softly.

"Well…" Aziraphale wondered whether he should tell Crowley about his feelings for him. He decided not to. "I'm just upset about my bookshop, I guess. I'm going to miss all those books. I had so many lovely first editions." He muttered.

"We can build it back up, angel. We can restore the building and find some equally wonderful books." Crowley replied. "I would be glad to help you, Aziraphale." He knew, at this point, that his reputation had already been utterly and irrevocably shattered, so he settled for helping his friend.

Aziraphale looked up into his eyes, wishing that Crowley would remove his sunglasses. There were really very few people on the bus, and he could make sure that no one could notice his snake eyes.

Apparently reading the angel's mind, Crowley reached up with his free hand and tugged the glasses off his face, folding them and stuffing them, carefully, into his jacket pocket.

Aziraphale gave Crowley a sad smile. "I don't think it would be quite the same, dear. It would be like you buying a new Bentley."

"We could still do it, though. I know how much you love books, angel. We could at least try." Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale laced their fingers together and tightened his hold on Crowley's hand.

"I suppose we could, Crowley."

"And my offer still stands, Aziraphale. You're welcome to stay at my place. I have a spare bedroom." Crowley continued.

"I don't exactly require a bedroom, dear. Angels don't need sleep." Aziraphale replied, a small blush creeping up that back of his neck at the thought of staying with Crowley.

"Well neither do I, angel. Sleep is nice though, rather enjoyable. You might like it." he replied.

Aziraphale lifted Crowley's hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it softly, leaving the demon gasping a bit, even though he didn't need to breathe.

"Maybe I would."

Crowley leaned sideways and rested his head on Aziraphale's shoulder, their hands still intertwined.

He didn't move until they got back to London.


	5. Cruel Angels

**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

….

Five Times that Crowley Comforts Aziraphale, and One Time that Aziraphale Comforts Crowley

Chapter 5: Cruel Angels

….

_Just before Crowley and Aziraphale return to their rightful bodies: _

"Shut your stupid mouth and die already." Gabriel snapped at Crowley. Despite knowing that angels can be mean and cruel, Crowley never expected them to be this horrible to one of their own.

He looked like Aziraphale, after all. Wonderful, lovely, stupid, brilliant Aziraphale.

He distinctly remembered hearing Gabriel tell Aziraphale to "lose the gut," and felt another surge of anger at how the angels treated each other.

How they treated Aziraphale.

Crowley gave Gabriel the most condescending look he could muster with a face that was not his own, then primly stepped into the Hellfire that was waiting for him.

Once he was engulfed in the flames, Crowley stretched his shoulders and cracked his neck, choosing to blow some fire toward the other three angels and give them a good scare.

He had never really hated angels, despite his Fall. And he loved Aziraphale. But Crowley felt that familiar, deep-set feeling uncurling in his stomach toward Gabriel.

He usually opted not to hate people. He found it to be far too much effort. Sure, he was usually mildly annoyed at everyone except Aziraphale, but he didn't really hate anybody.

Until now. Because no one treated his angel like that.

Once Gabriel and the others came to the conclusion that Crowley was somehow immune to the Fire because he had changed, rather than because he was a demon actually disguised as Aziraphale, they let him go, telling him that they planned to leave him alone for the foreseeable future.

Once Crowley was back on Earth, he quickly made his way to Aziraphale's restored bookshop, smiling to himself as he sat and waited for his friend to return.

Of course, he was unbelievably worried for Aziraphale's safety down in Hell. Even though angels were right bastards, demons were worse. They could choose something other than holy water to kill him, something that angels were not immune to.

But, he loved the bookshop, and he loved his friend, and he had to be optimistic that they would both make it through and be able to be happy.

Crowley started to think about how the other angels treated Aziraphale as he sat and waited.

He still felt the tightly-packed anger and hatred coiling in his gut, remembering all the different things he had heard Gabriel say to and about Aziraphale.

He was sure there were more instances that Aziraphale hadn't told him, and he was sure that more angels than just Gabriel had said these things.

Crowley let a snarl blemish Aziraphale's usually serene face, wishing he would have blown the Hellfire with just a little more force, so Gabriel would have ceased to exist.

No, he didn't hate angels. But he hated every angel who was ever mean to Aziraphale.

….

Hell was, more or less, exactly what Aziraphale had expected. He had expected cramped hallways, smelly and dirty demons, and no justice to speak of.

He knew Crowley was different than most demons. He remembered what Crowley had told him, about how he hadn't rebelled, he had simply asked a question and promptly Fell.

He had seen other demons, however briefly, and he knew that Crowley, with his beautiful yellow snake eyes, his immaculately cleaned and styled hair, and his impeccable clothes was a different breed of the Fallen.

He detested Hell. He thought it was disgusting, repulsive, degrading… all the nasty words he could think of. But he couldn't bring himself to hate it. For one thing, he was an angel, which made it _extremely _difficult to hate anything.

But the other, far more prominent reason, that he couldn't hate Hell was the simple fact that Crowley came from here.

Yes, technically Crowley had been an angel, so that meant that he was actually from Heaven in a sense… but Aziraphale knew that being Fallen made Crowley who he was. If he hadn't Fallen, he wouldn't be Crowley.

He could never hate the place that his love came from.

He tried to act as much like Crowley as possible, asking for a rubber duck and making Michael miracle him a bath towel. He was thinking about his friend the whole time, thinking that he actually, truly, wanted to try to be with him now that the Apocalypse was over and they no longer were on opposite sides.

Once he was back on Earth, he took his time walking back to his bookshop, where he and Crowley had planned to meet.

When he walked in, he saw Crowley (or, rather, himself) hop up from where he was perched. They clasped hands to swap their bodies back, Aziraphale noticing a look of grief in the demon's eyes as they slowly changed back to his usual yellow.

"Crowley, what –" Aziraphale started to ask.

But, as soon as they had fully changed back into their original bodies, Crowley wrapped his long arms around Aziraphale's shoulders and pulled the angel into his chest.

Aziraphale spluttered into Crowley's shirt, where his face was cushioned, but wrapped his own arms around the demon's waist and pulled him even closer.

They stood like that for a long time before Aziraphale pulled back slightly to be able to speak. He still had his hands latched around Crowley's waist.

"My dear… was there a particular reason for this?" he asked awkwardly.

"Er…" Crowley made to pull back from the embrace, but Aziraphale latched his hands together so the demon couldn't move. "I just… I just kind of got hit with the realization that the other angels are mean to you and I…" Crowley's voice cracked and he stopped talking, looking away from the angel.

"Crowley…" Aziraphale felt love for the demon blooming in his chest. "What happened?"

"Nothing… I mean… Gabriel said something rude… I mean, not in the sense that, like, it offended me, being a demon and all, but…" Crowley started to ramble.

Aziraphale shushed him. "Just tell me, Crowley."

"Well… after they untied me and told me to stand up to walk into the Hellfire… I started talking, trying to act like you. And Gabriel looked at me and said, 'Shut your stupid mouth and die already.'" He explained. "It didn't offend me, but I started to remember all the other things that angels, especially Gabriel, have said to you before, and I just… I got so _angry _at him. You don't deserve the bullshit they heap onto you…" Crowley trailed off and blushed crimson, embarrassed by what he'd said

"Oh Crowley…" Aziraphale leaned forward again, resting his face against the demon's chest. "Thank you. I appreciate that you… care about me so much." He muttered, not wanting to make Crowley uncomfortable.

Crowley hummed, tightening his grip on Aziraphale.

"I mean that, Crowley." Aziraphale pulled back again so he could look into the demon's eyes, reaching up with one hand and pulling the sunglasses off his face. "Thank you for the concern."

"Uh, yeah, Aziraphale. Yeah, it's all good. I'm, er, I'm sorry that I just, like, attacked you. I mean, not attacked you, but…"

Aziraphale shushed the demon again. "Just stop, my dear."

He leaned forward again, resting his head against Crowley's shoulder.

Aziraphale felt the demon unconsciously tighten his hold around his shoulders. He smiled, content for the first time in a long time.


	6. Everything

**Disclaimer: **Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn't still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

**A/N: **This is the one where they become an item. Nothing explicit, just hugs and cuddles and kisses and the likes.

….

Five Times that Crowley Comforts Aziraphale, and One Time that Aziraphale Comforts Crowley

Chapter 6: Everything

….

_Fifteen days after the Apocalypse that never was:_

It had been roughly two weeks since the near-Apocalypse. Crowley and Aziraphale had taken to spending more and more time together, usually sitting in companionably silence in the bookshop or drinking in Crowley's flat.

Neither was willing to say to the other why they wanted to spend more time together.

Crowley, for his part, felt an insatiable need to be near the angel. Anytime he was by himself for more than a few hours (unless he was sleeping), he started to fluster, shaking and breathing shallowly to the point of a panic attack (even though he didn't need to breathe, and his heartbeat rarely affected him. Only when he was feeling burst of love or loss).

The near-Apocalypse had frightened Crowley to his core. He had never before had to entertain the possibility of never seeing Aziraphale again.

Sure, their relationship had been rough at times. It took Aziraphale centuries to agree to the Arrangement, and even longer for him to grudgingly admit to their friendship. They had their ups and downs, just like any relationship.

Crowley remembered pondering Alpha Centauri, leaving the humans to fend for themselves. And he remembered dismissing the idea as soon as Aziraphale had refused to go with him.

So, Crowley, being intelligent, knew that he had cared about Aziraphale longer than he intended to admit. He knew that he had been entertaining… well… feelings for the angel that weren't entirely made out of friendship material.

Since they almost died, Crowley had seriously attempted to sort out his feeling on Aziraphale. He had thought about telling the angel how he felt, or not telling him anything.

Crowley finally settled to tell his angel nothing, refusing to jeopardize their friendship, which had grown _so much_ stronger since the near-Apocalypse, over his feelings of love.

Yes, Crowley remembered rather vividly what it felt like to love. He remembered being an angel, swimming in the feelings of love and contentment he always felt after making a new star or nebula.

He remembered the adoration he felt for the Almighty before he Fell, despite his feeling on the Great Plan.

But it had been a long time since he felt anything like that. It wasn't that demons were incapable of love, it was just rather difficult for them. Most demons chose to live a malevolent life, refusing to stop anywhere long enough to establish any sort of relationship.

Even the demons that Crowley had known since the Fall refused to take part in anything past a mutual understanding.

Even Crowley had attempted to take part in the ways of the demons around him, attempting to avoid relationships, moving on and changing himself whenever he started to feel attached to a certain place.

But Aziraphale… for all that Crowley was worth… he loved him.

He loved Aziraphale with his whole being, with everything that he was. He loved the angel so fully, so completely, that he felt physically ill if he spent too much time away.

He had forgotten what that felt like.

He had also forgotten what it felt like to be loved. Demons, as previously mentioned, were not the loving sort, and nobody in Heaven cared about the beings of Hell.

Aziraphale had always entertained their friendship, always seeming rather pleased to see Crowley whenever the demon popped up, but Crowley had never allowed himself to get attached. He knew how angels felt about demons, and he flat-out refused to feel love, rejection, and loss again. Not after what he went through with the Fall.

Crowley refused to pick apart the feelings of love that washed over him whenever Aziraphale was around. He could no longer detect feelings of love from others, not since his Fall. But, he wasn't stupid.

He could tell Aziraphale loved him, in a friendship way, at least, by the way the angel acted. When the blond would touch his arm to move him out of the way of a book he wanted, or made an extra cup of cocoa without being prompted.

Yes, Crowley knew that Aziraphale loved him. But he refused to ask in what way. He refused to ruin what they had for something that might be.

….

Aziraphale loved Crowley. There was no doubt in his angelic mind that he loved the demon thoroughly and completely.

Since the near-Apocalypse, Aziraphale felt the need to be around the demon more and more. He entertained possibilities here and there, pondering his feelings for Crowley as seriously as he had been ignoring other things that he felt, that weren't his in origin.

Yes, Aziraphale felt that feeling more frequently now. The feeling that someone nearby was experiencing an emotion very intense, innocent, and passionate. He didn't pay it much mind, working out his feelings for Crowley.

He knew that the demon needed him. That he craved to be around Aziraphale, needed to sense his presence.

Aziraphale wasn't stupid. He knew the near-Apocalypse had done a number on his friend, making him afraid, shy, and vulnerable.

He knew how terrified and heartbroken Crowley had been when the demon thought he had lost his angel.

And Aziraphale knew how he felt about the demon. How, whenever Crowley gave him a small smile or thanked him bashfully, he felt a new tendril of love snake up from his belly and spread through his chest.

Yes, he had it bad. He was hopelessly, irreversibly in love with Crowley.

But he refused to admit it.

Aziraphale refused to endanger what they had because he wanted something a little more.

So, he restricted himself to soft touches here and there, to small kind acts that elicited an embarrassed thanks from his demon.

Oh, how he loved that wily old serpent.

….

It had been nearly three days since Crowley had heard from Aziraphale, and he was definitely beginning to worry. He knew that Heaven and Hell had truly left them alone, that they were, more or less, safe from divine or demonic intervention. But he still let fear and doubt snake into his belly, curling up to clench painfully around his heart.

He had found a note from Aziraphale on the first day of his absence, explaining that he had to go to Heaven for a day to collect his belongings and work out his pay and all of those things.

Crowley had refused to worry for the first day, pushing down all thoughts of Hellfire and discorporation.

On the second day, doubt started to enter Crowley's mind about the safety of his angel. If he lost him…

Crowley drowned his worry in alcohol, flatly denying his traitorous thoughts the option of surfacing. He always felt mildly better when he knew where Aziraphale was, but knowing he was in Heaven was, well, hell.

On the third day, Crowley was in full panic mode. No amount of alcohol had helped, so Crowley was wallowing in intense emotions, kneeling in the middle of Aziraphale's bookshop as if he could summon the angel by sheer force of will.

His mind, once again, decided it was high time to entertain thoughts of Hellfire, of having to live for the rest of, well, forever without his best friend.

Crowley took in a sharp breath, despite not needing it. He felt tears threatening to spill from his eyes and forcefully banished them.

He _would not cry!_ He wasn't sure that Aziraphale was gone. He refused to start weeping like a toddler just because his angel had been gone for three days.

Crowley flopped back to fully sit on the floor, wrapping his long arms around his knees and hugging them to his chest.

He sat like that for four days.

….

Aziraphale knew that time worked differently in Heaven than it did on Earth. He knew that, however long he spent Up There, it would be longer on the planet.

He never, however, thought he would be gone for an entire week.

His meeting with his superiors, or former superiors, had lasted barely fifteen minutes, and it took him less than five to gather his few belongings that were still there.

When he left Heaven, he touched down just in front of his bookshop, using a miracle to make sure that no passerbys would notice. He carefully shifted his belongings into his left hand, reaching to unlock and push open the door with his right.

The sigh that met him was something that would be seared into his brain forever. And in this case, that literally meant forever – until the end of time.

Crowley, his beloved demon, was curled up in an impossibly small ball in the middle of the shop. Aziraphale could see tears in his eyes and on his face, noticing the whimpers and shivers that were wracking Crowley's thin body.

"Crowley…" Aziraphale muttered, scattering his belongings all over a table near the entrance. He hastily closed the door behind him and made his way toward the terrified demon, having a distinct feeling that he knew what was causing him to behave like this.

Crowley hadn't even reacted to the tinkle of the bell over the door. Aziraphale knew that the demon was so far into his thoughts that very little would shake him out of it.

"Crowley…" Aziraphale murmured again, crouching down next to him.

Crowley just gave a rather violent shake, burying his head in his arms.

"My dear…" Aziraphale reached out cautiously, tentative fingers brushing and them gripping Crowley's thin shoulder.

Crowley sniffed, but otherwise he didn't react to the soft touch.

Realizing that the situation required more than just a pat on the shoulder, Aziraphale tipped backward so his was sitting next to Crowley, gathering the redhead in his arms and pressing him into his chest.

He felt the demon unconsciously bury his nose deeper into his shirt, felt his tears soaking the material.

He attempted to exude some soothing magic into Crowley, tightening his grip around the thin shoulders and gently rubbing his back.

"It's alright, dear. Everything is alright." Aziraphale muttered into Crowley's ear. He felt the demon slowly come out of his thoughts, feeling thin arms snake around his waist.

"Zira." Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale had never heard the redhead call him this before but… he liked it. He liked it a lot.

"It's me, Crowley." He whispered.

Crowley's yellow eyes finally cracked open, as bloodshot as was possibly for slitted snake eyes.

"I thought I'd lost you." Crowley breathed into his angel's shirt, where he had firmly buried his face.

"I know, dear." Aziraphale replied. "How long was I gone?"

"A week. I thought… Hellfire." Crowley explained, an exhausted look ghosting over his face.

"I'm so sorry, Crowley. I had no idea it had been so long. It felt like only a half hour for me." Aziraphale allowed himself the pleasure of a soft kiss to Crowley's red hair. "I'm sorry you went through that."

Crowley nuzzled further into his chest, allowing Aziraphale to hold and comfort him.

"Actually…" Aziraphale started to say. Crowley hummed when the angel's chest vibrated against his cheek. "I'm sorry for everything, Crowley." He paused. "I'm sorry for being so rude to you for all those years, for refusing to call you a friend even though you were the only one I had. I'm sorry for always believing the worst in you, even though you proved to me time and time again that you weren't a normal demon, that you weren't all bad.

"I'm sorry for believing in Heaven more than you, even though you had proven to be more trustworthy. I'm sorry for saying I didn't like you, and for making you believe that I was dead." At this point, Crowley had tried to shush Aziraphale, but the angel refused to be deterred.

"I'm so sorry for everything, Crowley. I always took you for granted. I always believed you would be there to help me, even though I always treated you like the enemy. I was cruel to you, acting like you were an inconvenience rather than a companion. I treated you like another run-of-the-mill demon, all because I couldn't work out my feelings for you. For so many years, I refused to accept you as a friend. I was always happy to see you; I was scared that you were going to harm yourself with that holy water… but I never counted you as a friend. I refused to entertain the possibility.

"Then, the Apocalypse happened, or almost happened, and I thought I was going to lose you forever. I thought I would never see my best friend again. And it _hurt. _It felt like nothing I had ever felt before. Angels are beings of love, and I still had never felt an emotion as intense as the one I felt when the ground started to rumble under our feet.

"And I've _still, _after everything that's happened, I've still refused to admit anything to you. I have let you continue to believe that you a friend, but nothing more. But Crowley…" Aziraphale paused to look into his demon's eyes. "_I love you._ I love you so much that I didn't know how to process it. I shut down and shunned you instead of letting my feeling show. I was so bloody _terrified _that I was going to lose you if I ever admitted that, I shut myself down and allowed us to go back to our usual routine.

"I love you, Crowley. I love you with everything that I am. Every fiber of my being is screaming from the rooftops that you are the only person I love like this. I…" he trained off as Crowley put a finger to his lips, effectively shushing him.

Crowley straightened from where he had still been curled up against Aziraphale's chest, looking deep into the angel's eyes.

And that's when it clicked for Aziraphale. He finally realized what that Feeling as that he kept experiencing, and why he only felt it in the presence of Crowley.

He was sensing Crowley's love.

He was sensing the demon's raw emotion, his unhindered adoration.

And then Crowley was leaning forward and kissing Aziraphale, making the angel gasp at the unhidden, natural, pure _love _that was apparent in every millimeter of contact between their lips.

Aziraphale had never felt so open, so loved, in his entire existence.

Crowley pulled back before Aziraphale got past the shock of all the emotions that were coursing through his body, leaning forward so their foreheads were pressed together.

"I love you too, Aziraphale."


End file.
